Destinations & Things To Do
AT Musings: Trudging through “the Doldrums”

Hello, internet friends. I’m about 1300 miles into my Appalachian saunter and my feet hurt, it’s hot as hell, the bugs have bones to pick and evidently I find myself complaining rather often. Yet I am closer to the promised land of Maine than I ever have been, and as hard as it may be to believe, I’m enjoying my beautiful surroundings. New Jersey, you rock!
When speaking on a surface level about the AT, conversations typically revolve around two to three locations: the South and New England, but mainly just Maine and New Hampshire for the second bucket. Pennsylvania gets an honorable mention for how terrible the rocks are, and Vermont is admired for its beauty and mud, but outside of that, there is a sizable portion of trail, basically from Maryland to Connecticut, that is not discussed at large. That’s the section I am in right now, and I want to share some thoughts I have on: why this part matters a lot, the expectation setting of others and the endurance and adaptation needed to make it all the way.
A little over a week ago, I decided to take some space from my “tramily,” whom I had been hiking with for roughly 650 miles. It was a hard decision to make, but I could tell there was an unfulfilled need that could be nurtured through hiking solo. I eventually recognized that it was curiosity, a core value to my existence. While I appreciated the great company of my friends, I craved the opportunity to meet new people and explore the world on my own for a bit. Sometimes you just need to spend a night alone in the woods to figure some things out.
Just two days into my venture, I met my friend Woody, a fast, wise Canadian who carries a banjo. Our conversation made me feel justified in my decision, and together we came to the name of this article: “the Doldrums.” This nautical term refers to an area in the Atlantic with little surface wind, becalming ships or even bringing them to complete stillness. Sailors dreaded the doldrums because they could be delayed for days or even weeks, leading to difficult situations with food and water shortages.
After enduring Virginia’s 570 miles, your sense of distance and time become somewhat obfuscated since it is so much larger than any other state. You also hit a series of milestones around that time: the 1,000 mile mark during the “Rollercoaster”; Harpers Ferry, WV, which is the mental halfway point; Pine Grove Furnace, PA, the actual halfway point; and somewhere after the amazing 501 shelter (please don’t tear it down NPS!) you reach the 1,200 mile marker, suggesting you’ve only triple digit miles until Katahdin.
This also seems to be the section of trail where many people throw in their towels, and I can understand why. Amid all these milestones are some deep emotions and physical exhaustion from walking a thousand miles. It’s also the first time we’ve dealt with serious heat — the kind that makes friends from the Paved Realm text to say “I can’t believe you’re hiking right now!” — and with it come the bugs, sweat and dehydration.
Pick your poison: scalding heat, 90% humidity, or even both, which was the case for my Rollercoaster experience.
Though I said the Doldrums resemble a 500-mile stretch that isn’t really talked about, on the other hand, the amount of expectation-setting I have heard in the last few weeks has been off the chains. While I recognize it comes from a place of care, nearly every person I encounter on the trail has something to say about what my future holds and how good or bad it’ll be.
“You may climb the ladder, only to realize it was against the wrong wall.” — Joseph Campbell
Everyone knows that Pennsylvania’s alias is Rocksylvania, and that your feet will be penalized by the hard terrain. As I ventured north across the state, I encountered rocks and observed my foot pain. But then I was told “you haven’t seen any rocks yet! Just wait til Duncannon.” And after passing Duncannon, “the rocks don’t start til Swatara Gap!” At Swatara, it became Port Clinton, and so forth. I was frustrated by these unsolicited descriptions of how my trail experience would be, so I decided to push as hard as I could and finished the state of PA in just 9 days of hiking. While proud of my physical accomplishment, my Munk-like nature of being present was hindered by this constant setting of expectations.
Of course, Pennsylvania is neither the first nor last time that someone will try to write my trail experience for me (I will also use this moment to vindicate those who accurately said the rockiest part was at the end of the state). Virginia was deemed flat, and I have probably been warned of the steepness of the White Mountains more than 100 times since Springer. My point is not to correct these descriptions or scold others for recounting their experiences; rather it’s to remind us all to hike our own hikes and live in the present moment.
My feet hurt from Pennsylvania, but I found the state to be quite beautiful. As I travel through New Jersey, I have walked through more rocks — many have joked that Penn’s rocks come from Jersey — but I’ve also seen a glacial pond and had undisturbed serenity in these woods already. Moreover, the mid-Atlantic has demonstrated a unique relationship between trail and town, where civilization intertwines with nature in an unusual way. Drifting into a town each day allows us hikers to grab a cold drink and pack out a sandwich if we want; we call that “deli blazing.”
From river forts to walking under interstate bridges, the Appalachian Trail shines in its multifaceted beauty. You can only ever appreciate it and express your love to it when you are actually there — the past and the future are only figments of the mind. I said it in the last article and I’ll say it again: hike your own hike!
Furthermore, I think the Doldrums render a bit of confusion about our objectives for the trail. With milestones noting our proximity to finishing, such emphasis on mileage might make us forget all the other reasons we are doing the trail — be it spiritual ones, self reflection or something else. In the book “Appalachian Trials” by Zach Davis, which highlights the mental hardships of the AT and how one can prepare, he recommends creating a list of all the reasons why you’re out here, as well as how you might see yourself after successfully completing the 2,200 miles. It’s less about setting expectations and more about creating a reference sheet that you can look to when times are tough.
The three reasons I wrote back in 2023 are: I want the time to reevaluate the direction of my life and career, I can do a computer job for the rest of my life, and I am looking for a challenge that will help me build greater self confidence and character. Is there a clear and definite connection between getting 27 bug bites — on one foot, in one night — and separating myself from a monotonous marketing job? Not really, but with each successful day of enduring physical hardship, I can better recognize the self-reliance and autonomy I am developing for myself. Looking back, that day of bug bite hell doesn’t seem so bad!
“But nothing ever stays the same
Nothing’s explained
The stronger the wind, the faster we’ll fly” — Yo La Tengo, “Ohm”
In closing, what makes me call out this 500-something-mile section of trail is that it signifies an important time to look inward and remind ourselves why we’re out here. I want all of my 2025 classmates to reach Mama K, but I have also observed justifiable fatigue, impatience and deflation lately, both in myself and in others. There have been lonely days where I haven’t seen another soul, and there have been others where I am so bothered by the heat that it’s hard to be kind. But I know that this is temporary, that the entire Atlantic Ocean isn’t a doldrum, and that there are truly magical woods that lie ahead. I also called my mom the other day and that helped a lot, too. So long as I keep putting one foot in front of the other, the journey will continue.
Trudge onward, fellow AT sailors!!
Munk (like Funk)
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Destinations & Things To Do
The Street’s a Little Kinder When You’re Home…

And just like that, it’s already July. Half of 2025 is over! It’s not like the construction of time has been something I’ve thought of in ages. At this point, I feel like you could’ve told me any amount of time had passed, and all I could say would be… “ok, and?”
I slept… alright? I’ve become spoiled a bit with the bevy of hotel stays that I’ve had in the past month. I actually did a count, and I spent more nights in a real bed than on trail. Oops! I think I needed it though. The Mid-Atlantic took a bigger toll on my mental health, and physical health, than I could’ve expected. While the election was smooth, the terrain, bugs, rain, and heat wave were anything but. I’m glad to be making more progress North than East now.
When I woke up, the hostel felt like a ghost town. I assumed that was cause everyone else was asleep, but if I’m up first, that’d just be… shocking. I made a trip over to Sweet William’s Coffee Shop and Bakery for an Americano and croissant, before taking one last dip into LaBonne’s Market for a sandwich. Of course I’m going to pack out town food when I can! Plus, I’m pretty sure there are trash cans today.
The walk out of Salisbury and back into the woods was pleasant enough, into fields and a relatively calm ascent. At least, that’s what the elevation ma promised. In reality, my brain was still kind of out of it today. I don’t know what’s up, but I’m still not feeling that strong while hiking! It’s crazy how 1500 miles in, I still haven’t been able to dial in my footwear. In retrospect, going to a gait analysis before the trail would’ve been my best bet. Or at Mountain Crossings. Or at Outdoor 76. There were so many opportunities. But I was too worried about what was on my back to focus on my feet. Good to give as advice, though.
Eventually, I came upon the ascent to the highest point in Connecticut, CT’s very own… Bear Mountain? Yeah, turns out for some reason, CT also has a Bear Mountain. The ascent was nice, but the descent was quite tricky. Another mini boot camp in preparation for the Whites. At the top, I enjoyed the sandwich I packed out, and drank in the views. Though, it was terribly warm again. My speed’s dipped, and I can finally with confidence say that the correlation is all with humidity. If there’s any, I just can’t perform well.
During my descent, I ran into Trash Panda and Velcro, maybe for the last time. Both are getting off trail for a few days, just to take a break. But at this point, I got one way to go. Forward. And into Massachusetts! My home state! I’ve actually never been on this side of the state really — I had a car camping trip planned last year that included a day hike of Mt. Greylock, but that got canned due to some pretty intense rain. As a musician, I’d also always wanted to make the trip over here for Tanglewood. But never did.
As much as I’d like to espouse how great Massachusetts is, it starts with the beautiful Sages Ravine. Except… Sages Ravine has one very major flaw. It’s basically a swamp. Not basically, it is a swamp. Which means my enemy’s back out… infinite bugs. Even though I’d DEETed up to start the day, and DEETed up at Bear Mountain, and sprayed my clothes with Permethrin, they were relentless, going for my uncovered hands and legs constantly. I quickly picked my way through and before I knew it I was on the intense climbs up Mt. Race and Mt. Everett.
In the heat and humidity, my heart rate was constantly spiking. So, I constantly had to take breaks just to let the heart calm back down. I was constantly breaking into upper Zone 2/lower Zone 3 heart rates on these hard days, and while Zone 2 is technically fine, I don’t want to break into it too much during longer days.
At the top of Mt. Race, there was some beautiful ridgeline hiking, even with the sun beating down. I expected more of the same on Mt. Everett, but that’s when the weather finally decided to turn. As the crackling sounds of thunder grew nearer and nearer, I started trying to get down as fast as I could. But with the rocks getting slicker, it was all I could do to not fall! And I did a few times. Luckily, always on my butt. But at some point, I just accepted my fate, and started butt scooching down the mountain instead. I quickly passed by the Hemlock Shelters, and saw a few hikers ducking out the rain, before continuing on my path.
The last four miles of my day should’ve been the easiest. It was nothing but flat fields, flat dirt, and flat woods. But, for some reason, my feet are still absolutely on fire. I don’t get it! I was trying the Superfeet Green setup that seemed to have worked before the Shenandoahs. Maybe I should’ve never changed out, my body seems to have to get used to this stuff again. Ouch ouch ouch ouch.
After a few miles of plodding along, I finally got to US Route 7, and stuck out my thumb in hopes of a hitch into town. And voila! Almost instantly a truck pulled over, and he drove me to the Travelodge where I had booked the night. Yes, another hotel, again. But I wanted to explore a bit of Great Barrington! It seems like such a lovely town. We’ll be back in nature tomorrow.
At the Travelodge, it was all I could do to not immediately crash out for the night. I went over to an East Asian fusion restaurant, where I ordered some… mediocre food. At least the sushi was good. I got an Oreo McFlurry from McDonalds, and then called my mom after showering. My parents are visiting soon, and it’s time to really get the logistics in tow! Which feels unreal. I originally thought I’d be further than this. I was a bit snappy, since it was late and I wanted to go to bed, but we got a plan together. So yay.
(title lyrics from: When You’re Home, Mmandy Gonzalez, Christopher Jackson)
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Destinations & Things To Do
Day 119, Glam Girl and Hunger Pain are officially AT NOBO 2025 thru-hikers | February 28-June 26, 2025

Thursday, June 26. Our much anticipated summit day. The weather was nice with no precipitation in the forecast. We had a pleasant morning at our campsite at the Birches campsite. We felt blessed to have Ryan and Ellie with us to continue our journey to the summit. We were joined today by five other close friends and family, Celine, Jackson, Becca, Craig, and Cait. My mom and Leo hung back at the camp with Patti and Mike. The hike up was wonderful and went by very quickly and next thing you know we were at the summit. The summit was very surreal, emotional, and such a special time completing this epic journey. We were the only thru-hikers to summit that day so others were quite patient with our pictures as we took lots of pictures with friends and family. The hike down was also special as we knew we were now completing our journey and about to return to our normal life. We had a couple of cars parked at Katahdin Stream Campground brought in by the friends/family that joined us today. We made our way to Millinocket to stay on a beautiful lake at Patti and Mike Daigle’s camp which had a view of Katahdin. Another wonderful cookout and beautiful weather and we got to relax and enjoy our final evening in this part of Maine with friends and family. The best part of today was that we didn’t have to do any thru-hiker chores! That felt great.
All of the below photos were taken by the one and only Cait Bourgault (photocait)!!🤍
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To learn more, please visit the About This Site page.
Destinations & Things To Do
Into the High Sierra – Thunderstorms, Snowfields & Mt. Whitney Prep

The Sierra is showing her true face – with marmots, thunderstorms, snowy climbs, and mosquito swarms. We’re officially in the high country now. Our group is back together, we’ve had our first real alpine lake swim, and we’re camping above 3,000 meters. With wet boots, sore legs, and full bear cans, we’re ready to tackle our biggest challenge yet: Mt. Whitney.
Day 55 – Marmots, Mosquitos & Mountain Views
Last night was warm enough to sleep with just the sleeping bag draped over us. Morning was a bit of a scramble to dig out our hand sanitizer and wet wipes from the bear can, but we made it work. Packing still takes a while – we’re getting used to fitting all our food into the can – but we eventually hit the trail. A long climb awaits, and we’re happy to have gotten a head start on the rest of the group.
The landscape is fully transformed. No more desert – we’re walking through cool, shady forest, sometimes even crunching over old snow patches. Instead of snakes, we spot a marmot. Yep, we’re in the mountains now. We stop for breakfast at a gorgeous overlook and still haven’t been caught by our crew. Weird.
Veary finally catches up during snack break. The trail drops down to lunch. Turns out Timo and Lea got delayed – they forgot to collect water and even had to set up their tent at breakfast to escape the mosquito apocalypse. Apparently, the season has begun. We got lucky with a breezy, bug-free breakfast spot, but the Swiss were swarmed. And to make matters worse, a mouse chewed a hole in Lea’s sock.
We eat lunch by a creek but don’t linger – dark clouds are forming. The forecast had warned of storms. We still have to climb a ridge, so we push on. Thankfully, the clouds move the other way. The views are spectacular – even the dried-up lakebeds look dramatic.
We hike further than planned. The original camp is too early and the weather holds, so we go for it. Our new camp is beautiful, but the water source is a bit of a hike downhill. By 5 p.m., we have tents up, stretched our legs, and counted the 70 steps to dinner rock. That’s where the bear cans and anything smelly go for the night.
We’re camping at 3,144 meters. We’ll see how sleep goes – apparently, the mosquitos have no issue with elevation.
Day 56 – Storms, Snowfields & a Glacial Lake Dip
Rain during the night! Not everyone was ready. Some scrambled to throw on their tent fly, Patrik climbed out to grab his backpack from a tree, and a few of us slept through the whole three-minute shower like champs.
Out of camp by 6 a.m. The trail is beautiful – forest, meadows, and increasingly frequent snow. Our shoes are starting to get damp. Clouds start gathering late morning, and by the time we reach our lunch spot at Chicken Lake, the thunder is rolling.
On the way, we lose the trail while navigating a snow patch and have to bushwhack a bit to find it again. Luckily, we spot Lea and follow her to the lake.
The sun is still out, so we seize the moment – glacial lake swim! Absolutely freezing, but refreshing and wonderful.
The Swiss are planning to wait out the storm here – they’ve already set up their tent. We eat quickly and hit the trail again in jackets. The climb is steep and the rain eventually starts, but we’re well prepared. No lightning near our ice axes, thankfully.
After filtering water for the night (no source at camp), we come across a massive snow wall – that’s the trail. We climb it, feeling tiny in the landscape. Just before camp, we stop for a snack – no eating at camp in bear country.
Camp comes early today, which is nice. We stretch, build the tent, and relax. The Swiss arrive much later – they got caught in the rain after packing up.
Dinner is 70 steps away again, and the evening is spent making a plan for tomorrow’s Mt. Whitney summit attempt. We’re sleeping at 3,362 meters. It’s getting cold – time to tuck in.
Day 57 – River Crossings & Ready for Whitney
No alarm this morning – we’re taking it easy. Today is just 11 miles to the base of Mt. Whitney. We plan to arrive early and rest up before tomorrow’s big climb.
I try packing the bear can inside my backpack for once. Not great. First, we have to cross a river to get to breakfast. It’s a proper river, but luckily there’s a fallen tree across it. We use that to get over.
Breakfast by the water. I’m still fiddling with my pack – the can is hard and presses uncomfortably into my back. Eventually, Lea arrives… but no Timo. After a while with no sign of him, we ping him on Garmin. Turns out there was a miscommunication, and she hikes back to find him. Eventually, we’re all together again and ready to move.
What a climb. Steep, relentless. We huff and puff our way up and are rewarded with an epic view – and storm clouds building once again.
The descent feels more like a retreat from the weather. We cross another river – this time no log, so in we go, boots and socks soaked.
Thankfully, camp is just around the corner. We pitch tents fast and stash the ice axes far away, just in case. We wait in the tent, hoping for a break in the rain so we can eat.
The sky clears just in time for a late lunch. We meet up with the group, then head back for a nap.
Later, the sun comes out – we hang up our soggy shoes and socks to dry before nightfall. Nap until six, then it’s dinner time.
We sit in a cozy hiker circle with our little trail family – and a surprise guest. A coyote trots casually past our camp!
Doug starts a new tradition: a dinner conversation topic. Today’s is books. Yes, please.We prep our snacks for tomorrow’s climb, stash everything in the bear can, and crawl into our bags. It’s time. Whitney tomorrow.
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